Healing Presence
by The Duelist's Heiress
Summary: Marik is ill, and the only one he will allow near him is his daughter. But little does he know that her being there is what aids in his healing. But both father and daughter must heal from harm done to them in the past. Hope you like.
1. Chapter One

**D.H. A.N.: **I'm here with a new story and I hope you like it. Mhera is written in first person. Please enjoy **Healing Presence.**

**Chapter One**

Marik Ishtar coughed loudly, emitting an unintended wheeze, hoping that no one would hear it. He was unable to get sick, it was the last thing that should happen to him. Straining his voice, he called out. "Get her in here now!" His throat cried for relief, relief that only one could bring.

I heard a huge cough that awoke me from my slumber. I checked, and was relieved that it was not my throat that had emitted the undesirable sound. I did not know who it was, but felt really sorry for them. Odion then rushed in without warning. "My apologies, Miss Mhera, but your father has become ill and requested you." His hazel eyes met mine, a gesture that I have always taken as kindness that he alone gives. I heard my father's throat plea for relief.

"Of course, I hope I can help him." I sighed out of fearful apprehension as my father was usually not agreeable to treatments for a disease. "There may be a few things that I will need from you." I responded as I watched him leave. I then headed for my father's room.

I entered the large room silently, at once noting that the room was dark, and I could not, nor did I wish to, make out any other objects than the bed, and a doorway to my right. I ran my hands across my clothing, preparing for my father's requests. I noted the bed was huge, and fit my father's ego, or so others said. I never thought so.

"_You have to help me." _My father's mental voice was better than his normal one, even with the fact that I hadn't heard it. He sounded tired even though he was telepathically conversing with me. I was now unsure of how well I could aid him. His eyes fluttered open gently, seeing me seemed to put him at ease, but how long it would last, I was not certain.

**D.H.: **How was it? Good, I hope. Please R&R.


	2. Chapter Two

**D.H. A.N.: **So sorry for the short first Chapter; this one's much longer, I promise. Please read & review. Mhera is thirteen years old here, so some of this would be considered a spoiler for my other story, **Powers Revealed. **Thanks for the reviews.

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**Chapter Two**

I quickly grabbed a chair, and setting it at the foot of the bed, watched his eyes slowly close. My father had the right idea, and being that I had been awakened by this unexpected occurrence, I saw no harm in claiming lost sleep. Suffering from insomnia is not a trait I take pride in, and yet when my insomnia lapses, I still don't get a full night's sleep. The thought of sleep made my head grow heavy, and it began whispering solitude in my ear. I finally answered the call.

_Why has he…why has he the trust to call me when I could have clearly said 'no' ? Why did I say yes? Had I forgotten what deception and horrors I had been put through by this man of two natures?_

These questions unrelentingly plagued me through my sleep But then my sleep took an unexpected turn.

All I could see was an empty room with my unanswered questions echoing through it. A robed figure entered, somehow ceasing the questions within my mind. He spoke to me almost softly. "He has harmed you, Arlomhe. I was only his guise." He stepped farther toward me. "But you cannot allow this to become an insatiable grudge, something that is very likely if not kept at bay."

"But if that happens, it is because of you, not me." I said resolutely

"True, I was the cause for it, but it is you Arlomhe, who needs to heal. Although, your father does in a more literal sense, you must heal as well." His words were cryptic beyond measure.

"But you _are _my father!" I screamed, cryptically confused.

"Yes, but not in this sense, Arlomhe, not in this sense." He responded

I awoke, quickly going out the door to try and clear my head. He was my father, but yet he was right in the fact that in the dream his role was leader of an organization, not a father. The use of my alias proved that.

Marik watched his daughter leave the room, silently pondering the same questions that Mhera was in her sleep. Through watching her sleep, he realized that Mhera seemed troubled, but the answer of what it was, was not to be assumed. Only fools do that, making assumptions. He needed to assess whether his involvement was necessary. _Of course, wisdom does not prevent foolery, it only enables one to avoid it._ He thought as he leaned back against the pillow. He heard the muffled close if the door as Mhera entered the room. He sighed, relieved and astonished that she had returned so quickly. That she had come even after, he had realized, he deceived, lied to and hidden from her, and harmed her beyond what words could repair in the six years since the deception. But, he knew that even with that...undesirable fact, Mhera's eyes held compassion for him, something he wasn't about to let pass. He was taken aback when Mhera turned to face the door.

I turned my back to him, as I was unprepared to attempt to take the leader's hint on the attempt to allow myself to heal while aiding my father. Why had he not called for a physician, but me? My father was unpredictable in terms of reactions, and I wasn't going to test my luck, so I dared not ask. His mental voice shook me from my thoughts._ "Something troubles you Mheralo. It is unwise of me to do so, but may I trouble you to explain what ails you?" _The voice sounded like it was before six years prior, calm and gentle; as gentle as my father could be, anyway.

"You already know." I snapped at him, my eyes narrowing.

"_Mheralo-" _my father began with a sigh, but I, still having my back to him, cut him off.

"_You want to know?" _I was mentally screaming , without remorse. _"It's because you lied to, and deceived me! I can't get over it!"_

"_I should never_ _have done that, but at the time it was something of a necessity." _I was unsure of his sincerity, but a throat wrenching cough brought my caring nature back to me. Perhaps the leader was right, perhaps I was ill in another sense. I mentally kicked myself, thankful that my father was ill, as he would have never tolerated my outburst otherwise. I felt a hand on my shoulder. _"I'm sorry. I never let you get hurt, but yet, I did cause harm." _His voice held sincerity, care, and something she could not quite pinpoint. The effect resonated within my mind. I turned to him, seeing that his amethyst eyes held the same sincerity as his voice. His face was pale, but with no furrows, it was half of a good sign in my personal opinion.

"You should be in that bed, not fussing over my mental state." I said to him softly, feeling loose touches on my hair's ends. I pulled my auburn locks away from his comforting touches. I didn't deserve them.

His voice calmly entered my mind._ "My duty as your father has been forgotten lately, and that role should come first." _He allowed me to gently push him to his bed without protest. Somehow, we were both beginning to heal.

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**D.H. A.N.: **I love Father-daughter moments. This is an interesting one to write. Haven't decided what Marik's caught yet, I'm thinking either bronchitis or laryngitis, but if I can get suggestions from ya'll, that would be wonderful. Thanks for reading. R&R 


	3. Chapter Three

**D.H. A.N.: **I am so sorry for the slow update. This Chapter is partially dedicated to my brother. Hope you like it. Read, review and enjoy.

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**Chapter Three**

My father took to the pillow almost instantly, much to my relief. I then took a seat on the chair by the door; although something caught my eye from the chair before I could fully relax. A gilded frame was right above me. I waited, deciding that the frame's contents could wait and contented myself with watching my father sleep.

A few hours later, I noted my father's breathing was stable and without wheezes, save one or two an hour, not a bad thing, but I was certain that it would get worse if my father would not turn to a physician. He was so stubborn at times. I could barely see what allowed my mother to put up with it. Yet, I could see how much they loved each other for the thirteen years they made the most of. My mother and father met eight years before my brother was born and were happily married half a year later.

I am one to think that speaking about my mother both comforts and pains him, that's why I never bring it up. Although, when he speaks on the subject, I see his eyes light up, and the unintentionally perpetual glare leaves them, if only for a moment.

I turned from the chair, backing from it slowly, until my back gently came into contact with my father's bed. My amethyst eyes met emerald green ones, as I gazed straight into a portrait of my mother. I was surprised at how much I took after her, and yet not surprised at the fact. It had to be professionally done, or very carefully over time. My father still loved her, I could discern that from my inspection of the work. It was carefully done, revealing the caring nature that my mother had, the nature that I now was fortunate to possess. I sighed, once again rueful at how much I took after her, but also unsure of why.

After looking at the portrait for a few moments, I remembered that I had a report on effective dueling strategies due in my tutor's hands the next morning. My tutor is, in my mind, flawed in his methods, and would not care that I had been caring for my father the day previous. I am so thankful that I can get away with handing in mediocre essays; something that my father would never approve of.

I smiled at the fact that as far as my tutor saw, I only got lucky during my match with the leader. But, don't think me high and mighty, I still lost. That alone could prove that the deception my father had implemented six years ago was still working. I looked at the portrait endearingly, if only for a few moments more, then left to gather my materials.

I poked my head outside the door, eyes scanning for any sign of movement; although at the time I had no need to check my surroundings; the best I can figure is that I had trained myself to keep a wary eye out for suspicious happenings. I attempted to sneak past the tantalizing aroma of soup and other foods on the counter, but to no avail. For the umpteenth time, I was wondering why my father had called me, without first contacting a physician. I was inwardly assured that he had a reason, although I was unsure of what it may have pertained to. As the soup beckoned me, I reasoned that it was a good idea to provide food for my father before getting my materials, as, once I started writing, I usually didn't stop until satisfied with my work. Knowing me, that could take awhile.

I carefully ladled a bowl of warm soup from the silver colored pot on the closest element on the stove. I set the bowl down, and placed the lid onto the pot, accidentally brushing my arm against the side of it upon retrieving the bowl. I winced, biting my lip in pain, but quickly ran my arm under cold water to allow the pain to subside. I was furious with myself, and how I could have been so ignorant as to not remember that I was experiencing a growth spurt, and from what knowledge I had; the growth would continue until I was sixteen to eighteen, three to five years of more accidental injuries due to ignorance didn't suit my fancy, nor would it suit my father's.

I silently tread to my father's room, the bowl of soup almost precariously balanced in my hands, turning the doorknob with my right hand, and opening the door by pressing my back against it. When I entered, my father stirred slightly, an action which brought a small smile to my face Then I saw his. His face possessed a little more color, as if he had recovered slightly just from his sleep. I placed the bowl on the nightstand silently, then somewhat retreated to my previously occupied chair. He had caught a glance at my arm, something that I wasn't ready to explain to him, although it would have been easy to do so.

"_What happened to your arm, Mheralo?"_ His voice was sharp and demanding of an answer.

"I had a run-in with a hot pot." I uttered softly, pulling my white sleeve over my arm to prevent my father from seeing more. I didn't need him worrying over me. I was worrying enough for the both of us; I think he knew my worry was for him.

"_Come here." _My father said softly. Soft footsteps were heard as I silently obliged, standing at his side. I knelt down slightly, allowing him to set his hand on my shoulder. It was firm, yet gentle as was his voice. _"You know I worry about you."_ I could see him shifting somewhat uncomfortably as if he were in a chair rather than a bed. He sighed, _"I worry about whether you are self sufficient enough for your age; whether I've given you too much assistance…whether I'm fit as your father." _He gazed at me uncertainly. _"Your inability to prevent accidental injuries is only feeding my worries."_

"_They're accidental! Do you really think I can prevent them? I'm nowhere near perfect; why do you expect me to be?"_ I mentally screamed.

_"I don't expect you to be perfect. However I do expect you to be mindful to whom you speak and watch your tone with me. I may be ill, but I'm still lucid enough to recognize disrespect when I hear it."_ I was irresponsive as I felt my father's hand remove itself from my shoulder. Without another word, I stood, and left for my own room; giving him a glance of understanding at what he meant.

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**DH: **I hope this Chapter was alright. I hope you liked it as well. Once again, this is partially dedicated to my brother, who caught the flu recently. Fortunately, he's okay, now; Marik will be too, it's just going to take time. **PDTO **will be updated next. If you have any suggestions, let me know. 


	4. Chapter Four

**D.H.: **This Chapter is dedicated to **GhostWulf,** who is ill. Also dedicated to anyone who is sick, really. Marik is somewhat in/out of Character depending on how you look at it.

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**Chapter Four**

I was about to shut the door when the arrogance of my father's words hit me. I became absolutely furious. I trudged to my room, but quickly banished the thought of completing my essay in this state of rage I was in. Why, why did I have to be like him in terms of temper? I reached the door, grabbing the knob tightly. I swear if I was any madder, I would have ripped the door right off the hinges. I slammed the door, panting. Glancing at the mirror, I saw my face blaze with fury. I sighed deeply. I was ready for a fight, and was not going to stop until I got it. I picked a purple book out from my shelf, and threw it onto the bed. I heard a clicking sound, as the shelf rose up, showing the path to the oasis. I trudged down it, but as I went further, I found that my mind became clearer, and my step got lighter. The place always calmed my nerves.

Once I stepped onto the grass most of my fury was gone. But something still remained. I was caring for him and he chose to treat me like that? I could not comprehend why. I took that as something of a good sign. But if he would not see a physician, that's the best my father would get. I went under the oak tree and sat, mulling over the current situation. I received no answer to the problems I was presented with. I removed my shoes, letting my feet touch the soft green grass. I sighed, wondering if my father had shown this to Keimo, I always thought my brother had needed a place like this; somewhere where he could just relax.

After a half hour, I made up my mind to send for a physician, whether my father wanted me to or not, and to tell him so. I got up, leaving my shoes behind, as I figured I wouldn't be long. I almost yelped as I stepped onto the cold stone floor. I sighed, resolutely pushing myself onward to do something that would be anything but easy. I was never very persuasive, but I'd need all the skills and patience to speak with my father about this.

I silently levitated the book back to its location on the shelf, after which the shelf returned to its normal position. I silently exited my room and, against my better judgment, headed for my father's. With each step I took, I felt as if I was reliving every minute of my life that was less than desirable. My brow furrowed into a look, one that if looks could kill, the object of my gaze would be seriously wounded.

I opened the door slowly. My father was smirking; he must have known that I'd finally get what he was trying to accuse me of.

"You seem to be feeling better." I gave my look a little more displeasure in order to make a point.

_"Yes, and you seem to have finally comprehended what I meant. Now, what did you come for?"_

"That's none of your concern." I almost snapped at him.

"_You're wrong, Mheralo. It is of my concern." _I tensed as his smirk grew wider. He continued,_ "You made it so the moment you stepped in here."_

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I asked, arching my eyebrow.

"_You should know. Now, either tell me why you're here, or leave." _I was growing tired of this already, and I hadn't even made my point. If I was I was anywhere near my usual submissive nature, I would have taken his latter option.

But something wouldn't let me leave. To this day, I'm still unsure what it was. I turned to him, saying calmly, yet I made sure my words held a tinge of authority. "I am sending for a physician, whether or not you desire it."

"_Then I'll refuse." _My father snapped back

"You have not that option, Father. Either way…" I could tell I was losing my temper. "You will see a physician!" I yelled. Then I softened my tone. "I shall not be swayed on this issue."

It was his turn to give me the death glare. _"Is it to be war between us, Mheralo? I've told you; I will not see a physician!"_

"_Yes you will!"_ I argued

"_No I won't" _He was trying to get a stalemate, something that I wasn't going to let happen.

"Yes!"

"No!" He was almost so quiet that I couldn't hear him.

"Yes" I pushed.

"_No!" _He panted _"Not after what happened thirteen years ago!"_

I dared not go on. Rather I pondered whether there was a genuine reason that he would not call a physician. I unintentionally turned my gaze to my mother's portrait. Then, and only then, did it dawn on me.

_**Flashback**_

I had never felt the need to ask the question, but this new development filled me with an almost unbearable doubt about what Father's answer would be should I have chosen to ask. The time to ask had come. "Do you ever blame me for what happened to my mother?"

"Never!" His response was almost immediate.

**End of Flashback**

He didn't blame me for what happened those years ago He blamed the physician, and that had developed, not into a fear of, but a disdain for any physician.

I altered the subject, with knowledge that I could either make this worse or better. I was hoping for the latter. "What would you do if you had one more day with her?"

Mhera's question caught Marik off guard. Looking at her quizzically, he thought. _If I had one more day… I'd want to do so much…_

"_Why?"_ He asked calmly, trying to hide his shock.

"It's obvious that's what bothers you. I'm just asking." Mhera responded coolly.

_She's just asking, is she? No, what she wants to know is why. I have a feeling she already knows, and she just needs me to confirm it._

"_If I had one more day with your mother, I'd find a way to make it last forever." _My father responded.

"But that would be a waste of the day." I said softly

"_True."_ My father sighed ruefully.

I then took, what in retrospect I think was, another drastic step. "What if she…" I was losing my resolve.

"_Go on.' _My father's voice dripped with impatience.

"What if, what if she were still here? Would you listen to reason then?" I blurted out before my resolve left me.

"_If she were still here, I wouldn't have this problem! They call themselves doctors but they couldn't save her!"_ He was wheezing, panting out of the same fury that had me in its grasp hours before. _"Leave! Call the physician, but please leave me be!"_

I was taken aback. "Is this what you want?' I asked calmly.

"_Yes. Now go!" _He was shaking with something that I could not pinpoint. Whether it was fury or fear, my stomach flipped at how much pain he must have been in.

"_Father…" _I attempted to place my hand on his shoulder, but he pushed it away.

"_I said leave!"_ He yelled

As I exited the room, I saw Odion there waiting for me. " Should I call the physician, Miss Mhera?"

I could only bring myself to nod.

"Should I let you know when they arrive?" He asked.

Once again, I could only bring myself to nod in approval.

He nodded, and we parted ways. Once again I was furious, this time with myself. I had won the battle, but at what cost? I silently walked to my room, gently, turned the knob, and entered. I looked in the mirror and saw my face, etched with sorrow.

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**DH:** This is quite an interesting turn of events. This chapter really highlighted the fact that Mhera is a teenager. That was only a minor spat. It'll get better. Please Review. 


	5. Chapter Five

**D.H. A.N: **The last chapter was a little rocky, but it was necessary. Now, the attempts to make amends come into play. Here's **Chapter Five. **Please enjoy it.

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**Chapter Five**

For two hours, I sat on my bed, twiddling my fingers as I mulled over the primary guilt I possessed. I had no right nor reason to start an argument. I looked to the bookshelf, remembering that a reason had presented itself. But the argument, that was not part of the plan. Though I think I should have seen that coming. I buried my face in my hands, heaving a sigh of slight aggravation. How was I going to be able to bring myself to face my father after what happened. I was brought out of my moping by three sharp knocks on the door. I was hoping it was Odion on the other side, but only one person knocked in that manner…my father.

Marik was caught mulling silently over the numerous issues that had presented themselves through this, perhaps, interesting experience. One issue that had nothing to do with the argument previous kept echoing in his mind. His daughter's voice echoed in his thoughts. _"I'm nowhere near perfect; why do you expect me to be?"_

_My expectations have been high, but I never knew she thought they were too high…what choices do I have? _He saw that he was getting nowhere. But the way he pushed her away, it would be lucky if they were able to make a consensus . _I have to make the first step though. I must make amends. _Marik rubbed his temples, indecisive about whether to do it later, but he finally was able to decide that now was the time to do it while it was still on his mind. He couldn't let another two hours go by.

He got out of bed, groaning as he did so, for it was the last thing he should have done in his impaired condition. He poked his head out of the door, looking both directions, as Mhera had done earlier, slowly stepping into the hallway. He took the same pace as he walked to Mhera's door, leaning on the frame for support. After a few moments, he knocked on the door thrice, a sincere telepathic apology at the ready.

I hesitated, unsure of my father's motives, and his reaction to my previous open adversity. I had spoken in a manner that, in my opinion, disgraced his position as my father. But because I was certain of my own motives, I opened the door to let him enter. His eyes were closed as he entered, opening only after he passed my shoulders. We stood almost back to back for two minutes.

I managed to wind my way around him, still having the knowledge that it would be wise to keep my back to him, rather than looking him in the eyes. 

I then felt hands on my shoulders. I sighed as a realization dawned on me. Just as I interpreted the act of Odion's eyes meeting mine as a gesture of kindness, I thought the act of my father placing his hands on my shoulders as one of confident faith, trust, and approval. The only possible problem was, that was my interpretation, and interpretations can always be wrong. There was one thing I was certain of, and it was that the gesture held meaning, for he has done it since I was little. His voice broke my thoughts, along with the fact that he somewhat squeezed my shoulder.

"_Forgive me. I never saw how my expectations affected you. I now realize that I expected far too much of you, Mheralo." _He stroked my hair lovingly. My stomach soured. I had opened one of my father's greatest emotional wounds, and yet he acted as though it had never happened. I choked back a sob, but it was not without tears. My pride is one of the things I inherited from him, and it was getting in the way of my release of any sort of emotion around him, as he would forbid it under normal conditions. But until I was turned where I was looking him in the eyes, I had forgotten that the conditions weren't normal. He wiped the tears away from my face, a small smile on his, one that was apologetic in nature.

"_Why do these tears obscure your face? You know as well as I that they suit you not."_

I was unsure of what to tell him. I heaved a sigh, "I offended you, disrespected your position, and you seem to think it nothing. I acted out of my boundaries. It should be me asking you for forgiveness, not the other way around."

_"You should know I have already done that. The fault is more mine than yours for our disagreement, Mheralo. I should have told you my reason, as it was unfair of me to keep it from you." _My father then looked from my head to my heels, cracking a small smile._ "How tall are you?"_ he asked, completely aware of my recent growth spurts. 

"Um, Five-Four?" I was guessing, as I had no knowledge of how tall I was at this point.

"_Taller. Take this into account. I am six foot." _He then pulled me towards him, my height coming to its zenith under his chin._" Since your head fits under my chin like so, I assume you are about five ten You take after me in regard to height." _He paused, looking me over again. _"Whoever I let have your hand will be extremely lucky."_

"Whoa, whoa,…it's way too early to be thinking about stuff like that!" I said warily

"_Did I say that out loud?"_ My father asked, chuckling at the fact that he had meant to say it, and made a joke of it. I laughed lightly, there was still humor left in him.

But my father's previous comment made my mind race back to the portrait of my mother, and how much she meant to him. On my eighth birthday, he told me the story of how they had met and how he had fallen head over heels for her. My birthdays have always been a day of gratitude for what was gained, as well as one of mourning what was lost for my father. The silence was antagonizing beyond belief, and I knew that I had to get my father back to bed, because that physician would blow a gasket if they saw my father out of bed in his condition.

"That physician will be checking _me _out if I don't get you back into that bed. " I laughed somewhat bitterly.

"_You want me to leave?" _He asked, eyes obviously hopeful that I would say no. I had something else in mind.

"Well, yes and no." I sighed, leading him out of my room and into his own, supporting him carefully, as he shouldn't have been out of bed in the first place. I guided him onto the bed, after which I moved the chair from its former position below the portrait, hoping that by looking at the portrait, my father would tell me the story again. I found instead that my father took to glancing at the portrait, then at me.

"That portrait is…beautiful seems so inadequate to describe it…" I was at a loss for words.

"_I know the feeling. I have trouble describing it myself." _He sighed lost in his memories.

"Tell me how you met my mother, and… and how you fell for her and how you loved her…" I paused, knowing that I was becoming carried away. "Please Father?" I gave him a look that I hadn't used on him in forever.

My father seemed perturbed at my request. _"Mheralo, I haven't told you that story in years. Why is it you ask now?"_

I only pointed at the portrait, at which my father nodded understandingly, beginning his tale.

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**DH: **Does anyone else see a new story coming out of the end of this chapter? Anyway I hope you'll wait for a while. This story will be complete before I start another, I hope. I made Marik six foot, because I think he'd be taller, as in my stories, he's not 16. 


	6. Chapter Six

**D.H. A.N.: **I fibbed as **Jeweler **is up and running. When I get an idea, I have to put it in writing, otherwise, poof it goes. For conformation that the below chamber descriptions are accurate, check **Chapters Four &Five **of **PR. **If you figure out how I came up with the numbers for the files, Send me a PM. I want to know if anyone but me knows. Enjoy **Chapter Six** of **Healing Presence.**

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Chapter Six

When my father finished his narrative he sighed out of contentment, as if it was therapeutic for him to tell about the events every so often. _"If I tell anyone, I take comfort in knowing that it is you, Mheralo." _He set his hands on my shoulders, as he had insisted that I move my chair closer to him.

"You know, I take comfort in your ability to bring yourself to tell me. I still understand how hard it is for you to speak of her, and yet…" I paused unsure of how to word my next phrase.

"_Go on." _My father sighed, no doubt remembering how differently the phrase sounded from the last time he had used it. _"It is hard, but do you know what is harder. Mheralo?" _I gave him a blank look of uncertainty of his answer. He continued,_ "The thing that's harder on me than speaking of your mother, is seeing you uncertain of yourself. When you came in here earlier, I could tell that you were certain of yourself beyond measure; that fact is something that brought great satisfaction to me. But I realize the argument could have been avoided " _My father shook his head ruefully.

Pulling his right hand gently from my shoulder and into my own, I answered him telepathically _"What's done is done, Father. Lamenting on it is a waste of time. It's done. Nothing further needs saying."_

My father then pointed to his nightstand, on which a set of silver keys was visible. _"There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you that requires your file. Do you remember the number?" _I shook my head 'no', an action to which he responded, _"The number of your file is 2756643-742784. I must have your word that you will not open the file until you return to me with it."_

I hesitated, knowing the magnitude of what my father was allowing me to do. Those files were for his own private use, and, although it had never happened, I was certain the punishment for trying to obtain one without his permission was severe. "You have my word, sir." I responded carefully. His only response was a nod. I was almost out of the room when a thought crossed my mind. Which key opened the cabinet, and which one opened my father's office?

"_The large one opens the door, and the small bronze one opens the cabinet, Mheralo." _My father's voice echoed in my mind as I pushed the wall switch outside his door, lowering the staircase to the lower portion of our abode. I swear my father could be referred to as "the Wall-switch lover," a thought that seemed to always come to mind every time I ran errands down here. I silently snickered at the thought. I entered hastily, as even with the fact that I had been traversing the lower halls which contained my father's secret chambers for about eight years, the halls still brought some form of apprehension to me. I reached the bottom step without incident, but had to wait for a few moments to raise the wall, as I heard two masculine voices arguing.

When all was quiet, I stepped onto the tile switch, which caused the stairs I had just come down to return to their former positions as tiles on the floor above, and the wall to my left to slide aside to reveal a hallway. I stepped out, a switch sliding the wall back into place, and to my left, and into the hallway cleverly disguised as a closet. No later had I squirmed into the door that footsteps were heard, along with the same pair of argumentative voices outside the door. Quickly throwing the deadbolt behind me, I sprinted down the hallway to a door, gripping the doorknob out of pure thankfulness that I had gotten into the hallway within that unknown time window.

My hands shook as I dug my father's keys out of my pocket. How was I going to get out the way I had come if those two were still out there arguing? I shook that thought aside as I unlocked the door. I stepped inside in the same fashion with which I would if my father was in his office, turning the knob quietly, and opening it half way to allow myself entrance. Locking the door behind me, my eyes searched for the filing cabinet.

My father's voice somewhat startled me. _"The cabinet is to your right, Mheralo. I believe your file is in the second drawer from the top." _I looked, and sure enough, the cabinet was to my right. The reason why I didn't see it before was because my eyes were usually focused to my front, and I was trained to not divert my eyes to either direction while I was spoken to here.

I quickly stepped to the side of the closed door, in front of the cabinet, unlocking the drawer with the specified key. I pulled out the drawer hastily, almost knocking the breath out of myself. I balanced my fingers across the spines of the binders, my eyes scanning for 2756643-742784. I found the number series sought near the end of the drawer, right next to a series of numbers that read: 7536635-92427294. I knew not whose number it was, but strangely felt as if I knew the person. Recalling that I had not the time to speculate who that file belonged to, I quickly shut the cabinet, locking it, and pressing my ear to the door, and still hearing the two voices, debated whether or not to go back the way I had come. When the voices did not cease, I racked my brains for options. I wouldn't be able to activate the wall switches with those two arguers watching, it would blow my cover. Somehow, I knew I had to get back to my father, as it had been ten minutes already. Turning away from the door, I rubbed my hand against the left wall, sighing as I proceeded towards the shelf, removing my hand from the wall right before walking past its dark wood grandeur. As soon as the shelf's occupation of the wall ceased, I placed my hand back on the wall, allowing it to hold my weight. When the tile my hand fell upon sank into the wall, I quickly drew it away, a look of shock clearly placed upon my features, rotating to the right as the shelf slid to my newly acquainted left. "My father." I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes, watching the "Wall-switch lover's" mechanisms at work. A staircase revealed itself where the dark wood shelf had previously been. I swiftly bolted up the stairs, seeing a door at the top of the staircase.

When I reached the staircase's zenith, I knocked on the surface in front of me, as I realized that it had no knob. I waited for the someone to answer.

Marik heard knocking on the shelf to the left of the bed. _It looks like she found another way out. _He smiled out of relief. _"It's on your left, Mheralo."_

"You mean a switch?" He heard his daughter's muffled voice asked from behind the shelf.

"_Yes, I mean a switch!" _Marik almost yelled, wincing as pain somewhat stabbed his lungs. He heaved two breaths, failing to notice that the shelf had shifted to his right, and that Mhera's head poked itself out from the doorway; the file he had requested in her hand. He cleared his throat, although it came out as a cough nonetheless. He motioned with his wrist and hand for her to come closer. _"Bring the file here, Mheralo."_ A small smile crossed his face, as he had kept very meticulous records on his daughter's progress since the first duel she played, and part of him wished to see

Mhera 's reaction at the fact that he had done so, but he wished he was well enough to appreciate it. Of course he wasn't going to show her everything her file contained, but a certain matter had to be brought up immediately.

After I was requested to come closer by a motion of his wrist, I saw him trying to hide his somewhat characteristic smirk at something that he alone knew. I, in turn, tried to hide my own showing of apprehension, an act I knew wouldn't work. My father could read my face with expert ease. Unintentionally, I felt, as if through living along the lines of secrecy, I had opened myself up to so much more than anyone else faced from him. My father's voice broke me out of my thoughts.

_"Have you had time to think about how you understand how hard it is for me to speak of your mother? I'd like to hear what you think about it."_ He asked

My memory had to do some backtracking to understand what my father was referring to. "I understand how hard it is for you to speak of her, and that's why I hesitate to bring it up. But the fact that you have the courage to face that, and embrace it… I admire that about you." My voice was soft, as I usually kept subjects of that nature to myself.

_"Thank you for having the courage to speak your mind. Although, I advise you to discern when it is right for you to do so; in some scenarios, the action leads to undesirable results."_ He raised his eyes to meet mine as he warned me, obviously unconcerned. He then motioned for me to toss the binder onto the bed; making an uncertain expression as I instead walked over to his side and placed the binder in his lap. Taking three slow steps backward, I watched his eyes follow his fingers down the binder tabs. There were five in all, but his finger stopped decisively on the fourth tab. The tab was marked, but I could only see that its classification was written in my father's distinct script and nothing more. I watched as fingers on both of his hands pressed the metal tabs; one each on the top and bottom of the spine, curious as to what he what he would remove from the binder's archives. I took about ten steps back when he pulled out my dueling essays, which were written on nine sheets of stained paper.

I knew I my face went white, feeling the color drain from it with every step I took backward. Not only that, but shivers started creeping up my spine; my stomach flipped, my mouth became dry as a desert, and to bring my present nervousness to the front of my mind, my palms began sweating profusely. I was in for quite a lecture at the least. Fear gripped me as well; my father wasn't supposed to see the essays. The fact that he had seen them made me wish that I had not done them under the now false impression that only my tutor would see them. I didn't know it immediately, but I was also shaking so hard that one would need to be blind not to see it. Keeping my eyes focused on his face, I saw that my father was moving his eyes between me and the essays in his hands, the doubt at authorship being removed with every glance.

I recoiled as his eyes focused on me, an icy glare within them. _"You thought I would never see these." _He started softly, too softly for my comfort. If he was in a better condition, he would have taken a step towards me as he began his next statement, but his voice carried the same effect. _"You thought only your tutor would see these, shells of a decent mind's application, did you not?" _His eyes almost forced me to answer.

I only nodded in conformation of what I was sure my father already knew; my tongue was dry, and prevented me from speaking. He threw the papers down, where several landed at my feet. As my eyes scanned the essay covered portion of the floor, I noted that none of them had the eye-shaped signet stamp that were on several of my other notable documents, the signet stamp being a sign of his approval. At a closer glance, I could easily see why. One factor was the essays being less than half a page in length, but the half page that was there was purposefully riddled with errors, spelling and grammatical, that only served as pawns to vex the tutor upon the first reading. But to top that, I had purposefully mislabeled, misused, and ill-categorized cards that were ones that every duelist would know; all in hopes that my tutor would claim that I was " beyond help", and leave me be. But now, I could obviously tell that my plans had a few unintended errors to fix. I was still shaking uncontrollably as I waited for my father's verdict; I knew I wasn't getting off scot-free on this matter.

Marik was stone faced, his gaze unwavering as his daughter looked over the essays on the floor. He saw that she shook uncontrollably, obviously knowing there would be, and, in wait for, a ruling. He then thought back to when he was shaking, and how he had felt a slight amount of relief, but then thought about how he pushed her away, fearing that Mhera would do the same to him. But the fears, and surprisingly his minute anger were quietly assuaged with a look to the portrait on the wall. The painted emerald eyes bored into him, plunging him into a guilty mood. His wife was the only one that could show his guilt in front of his face. _Even though she's gone,__ I still feel her here._ He sighed, noiselessly getting out of the bed, and proceeding to his shaking daughter.

When he placed his hands on my shoulders, I felt my shaking cease, and my palms no longer loosed torrents of sweat, something I was very thankful for. His voice was soft, and guilt laden, but resolute all the same. _"I want these essays, and mind you I use the term loosely, rewritten; on two pages front and back. Your essay on dueling strategies will be three pages front and back, and will not be started until these other nine have my approval. This is your punishment for cheating yourself, not one for displeasing me. Does it seem fair?" _He waited for my answer, which presented itself as a nod in agreement; I still could not speak, though this time it was out of surprise at his leniency. But I quietly realized that it was not leniency, it was a punishment worthy of my offense.

I was about to gather my essays, but was halted as my father picked them up for me, placing them gently into my hands. _"You should really be in that bed, Father." _I smiled slowly.

He almost smirked, but held it back, and I was unsure of why. _"You will work on those essays, won't you Mheralo?"_

"_Can they not wait, Father? My primary concern for the moment is you." _I awaited his answer. When his answer did not come, I sighed, resigning my stance while finding that I could use this to ease my mind. _"Yes, I'll work on them…as long as you stay in that bed." _I had to struggle the mounting urge to laugh at my father's puzzled expression.

I watched as he shook his head; somehow aware that he thought highly of my application of the ability to negotiate my wants. _"Very well, Mheralo." _His voice seemed to be hiding something from me, but as I was inclined to give him the benefit of good intentions; I thought nothing of it as I left to grab my materials.

I was about to leave the door when I gave my father a look of trusting hope that he wouldn't leave his room. _"_ _Don't worry, Mheralo. I promise I won't leave the room." _He smiled sincerely, this being the end of my worries.

I went to my room, grabbing eighteen sheets of paper, my Moleskine notebook that had my notes in it, and two pencils. Taking a tray from the kitchen, with intent to use it as a makeshift clipboard, I crouched against the wall opposite my father's door, as to give him privacy. I began to write my fist essay on basic card usage.

After half an hour Marik glanced at the calendar, noting that it read May 3rd . _Our anniversary already? There is something special I need to do, but Mheralo would never let me go do what I need to; although I know her reason is for concern. That's it; I'll sneak out._

Marik slowly made his way to the door, and opening it, saw that, as if fate were on his side, his daughter was asleep, head somewhat buried in an unfinished essay. He snuck past Mhera, relieved that she didn't wake. Pressing the wall switch on his left, he proceeded, unnoticed, down the stairs.

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**DH: **Wonder what Marik's up to? There were a couple of Phantom references in here, and the first one was mentioned twice. This won't be updated again until I explain something in Jeweler. If you found how I came up with the code, my next challenge is for you to figure who the file in front of Mhera's belongs to. (Hint: He's in PDTO, and I drop the last two letters of his first name; just as I do with Mhera) Please review, and send those answers. I'll let you know if you get it right. Thanks.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

**DH AN:** Here is another chapter. Please let me know if this goes a little fast. You'll see a lot of references from my third Prompted One Shot, **An Oasis In Her Eyes. **Enjoy **Chapter Seven** of **Healing Presence.**

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**Chapter Seven**

Marik carefully traversed the remaining steps, pressing the switch with his boot upon reaching the bottom of the staircase. The wall to his left slid aside; after which he squeezed through it. He was trembling as he stepped on the final tile switch, leaving his boots on the switch so that he couldn't be followed. It was the fatal flaw to the switch system; if weight was on any one of the switches, the others became inactive. However, he had forgotten that there was another entrance.

He then went to the oasis, a task on his mind. He entered the narrow doorway; coming to a point that widened equidistantly the farther he went on. His boots crunched the grass as he went to the lily bush, which was shaded by the immense seven year oak, planted twenty six years earlier. He stooped beside the lily bush, fingering the petals on each lily, looking for the right one. _The right one to place on her grave. _He sighed softly, finding the largest lily and cutting it from the bush. He stepped out the same way he had come, taking a door to his left soon after.

I awoke with a start, innately aware that something was wrong. I got to my feet, already panting out of fear rather than exertion. I immediately went to the door across from me, but it was locked. I quickly hit the wall switch beside the door, but heard no reassuring clicking. I panicked for one of the few times when I wasn't dueling. I pressed it again, and again, but still the same result answered my repeated action.

I then breathed deeply, looking down at my feet. I realized that I had left my shoes down in the oasis, and it was the only possible way I would get down into the lower corridors. I quickly rushed to the bookshelf in my room, grabbing the purple book out of its place on the shelf, and dashing into the hallway that revealed itself. I panted grabbing my shoes from underneath the oak, where I was told my parents had once shared a kiss before the tree was planted. I then slipped them on my feet, and crossed the bridge to the other side. I began to get slightly claustrophobic as the walls narrowed equidistantly the further I got to the door. I exited the oasis, failing to realize until after the fact that my father had been in the preceding room moments before.

I shivered slightly, failing to notice why until I looked to my left and saw that there was a door open. I quickly entered, pulling the only cloak off a hook inside the hallway and wrapping it around myself. I was about to shut the door, but that same thing that had pressed me to stand firm in my earlier argument pressed me onward.

My footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor. It was growing colder, and in response to it, I wrapped the cloak tighter around myself. I stopped at a small flight of stairs. After a while I carefully descended them. I then came to a door, where I heard soft sobbing from inside.

Marik was behind the door, at the foot of a grave stone; seeing the words he had painstakingly carved thirteen years earlier never really helped him cope, and yet, it did. He placed the lily in front of the stone, sighing softly. He heard the door open and shut, and someone coming behind him, and he allowed her to.

I entered, seeing my father this way did not help my confidence. I knelt beside him, glancing ahead, seeing the lily he had placed moments before. He stared at me, with saddened eyes that could easily be described as pleading eyes; eyes that both threaten and adore. I got up onto my feet, pulling him up as well. He looked at me again with the same eyes, and steadied himself on me. I was nowhere near in any condition to rebuke my father for scaring me half to death, as I would have done the same thing.

He shivered violently, and I gave him my cloak, but even that didn't lessen the tremors from his body. His body became like lead as he lost consciousness, and I was not ready for that. I carefully slung him over my left shoulder with his head next to mine so I could hear his breathing .

I quickly came up the way I had entered the hallway, careful of my father's position. Upon reaching the portion of the wall that slid aside, I saw the source of my panicked vexation: my father's boots. I picked them up, almost stepping on the tile, but just before I stepped onto it, I realized that the physician was right outside my father's door, and that I wasn't going to be able to get in that way.

My eyes darted to that familiar hallway disguised as a closet. Being I still had my father's keys, I quickly unlocked the door. Thrusting myself inside, I quickly turned, locking the deadbolt, and unlocking my father's office door. Slamming and locking that door, I quickly groped for the switch that slid the shelf aside.

Before the shelf had moved half its distance, my legs were already pumping up the stairs. I pressed the switch on my left, opening the way to my father's room. I sat on the bed, gently lowering him onto it. I panted; that was far too close. My right hand immediately went to rubbing the feeling into the opposite shoulder.

I quickly went to the door, opening and shutting it rather quickly, trying to hide the worry in my face. The physician only smiled, trying to put me at ease. "He'll be fine." I looked her over. She had brown curly hair and caring blue eyes. "I'm Dr. Gardner." She extended her hand to mine.

"Arlo- I mean Mheralo." I said quickly, amazed at how easily I slipped into my alias. I shook her hand. "He's unconscious." I started almost frankly, but then I felt a slight sob escape with my next phrase, "Please, help him."

"I'll do all I can." The brunette reassured me.

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**DH: **Yes, the doctor is loosely related to Tea, but I won't tell you how. Don't worry, it'll all work out. Please Review.


	8. Chapter Eight

**DH AN: **I'm back with another update before the month's end. **Rite of Heritage **will be updated within the week. For now, please enjoy **Chapter Eight** of **Healing Presence. **Please Review.

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**Chapter Eight**

I went back to my room and slept, half-thankful for the doctor and half- worried at what she would diagnose. I liked something about this physician but I wasn't sure what it was about her; perhaps it was her personality.

I wasn't ready for a progress report, but I got one nonetheless.

I found myself in that same hall that I had been hours before. I felt my face lose all expression when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned on my heel only to find the same robed figure from earlier standing in my view.

"What do you want now?" I asked softly.

"I came" he paused, "to give you a progress evaluation Arlomhe." He finished rather icily.

"Then give it!" I somewhat spat.

"I see you're still a little sore over that argument." The Leader no doubt had a smirk on his face at this statement, his voice showed it.

"You're wrong." I started shaking with fury, and a bit of fearful reminisce. "You're wrong." I repeated more to myself than to him.

"Am I?" he challenged, taking a step towards me. "You're the reason for where you are right now." He shook his head , murmuring in my ear. "If you had only kept that handle at the level of your eyes." I tensed, resisting the urge to burst out in fury. He repeated his previous comment. "If you had only kept that handle at the level of your eyes, well I wouldn't be talking to you right now, would I?"

I tensed, inches away from snapping. His comment upset me; let's just say that the statement was painfully correct. Somehow, I managed to hold my tongue, and the Leader seemed quite pleased with the result.

"Well done; it seems you are changing your habits, and as a result, are closing the rift and strengthening the bond between yourself and your father." He waited for my reaction.

I was about to point out that the Leader and my father were one in the same, but remembered his earlier words. The Leader's frank voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Your father is on his way to recovery." He paused "Who sent for the physician, Arlomhe?" He stared me down with the icy stare that only he could execute.

"I did." I responded, sure of myself, but after his stare did not abate. I added a quiet "sir."

He nodded. "I thought so." He hesitated, "Do you recognize anything about the physician?"

I was caught off guard. "I have never seen her before." I hesitated, sighing out of both aggravation and curiosity, "Why?" I asked, my interest piqued

"She saved you." The leader remarked bluntly, as if saving a life was a small favor. "I believe your father would remember." He started to walk away from me.

I was almost furious. "Where are you going?! I hope you don't think you can just mention something lightly then walk off!" I panted.

"You fail to see that I've been doing exactly that for years, Arlomhe." He responded suavely. I was beginning to abandon my theory that the Leader and my father were the same person. I trembled with emotions, and awoke from my dream to await my father's diagnosis.

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**DH:** I hope that was a good Chapter. Like I said, **Rite of Heritage** will be updated within the week. Please Review, and thanks.


	9. Chapter Nine

**DH AN: **I hope you are ready for another chapter of **Healing Presence. **Please enjoy it.

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**Chapter Nine**

I remember these three events with almost absolute certainty: discovering my father's lower corridors, a meeting with a certain boy, and the day my alias was "revealed" to the leader who had invaded my last two dreams. But there are so many things that I don't remember that would help me so much in the situations I found myself in consistently.

The one that I would be expected to associate with the physician looking over my father was one of those missing memories. I had an idea of who might know. But I wasn't fully awake yet. I shook some life back into my body, and grabbed a nice navy shirt with sleeves that grew wider the closer they came to my hands, and a soft worn pair of toffee colored pants; and headed for the bathroom right across the hall for a nice shower to clear my head.

I winced as the water hit me with that cold first burst, but the cold blasts gave way to warm relaxation. I soon felt refreshed and soon dressed after drying myself off. I braided my hair, placing the tip of braided length over my left shoulder. Skipping across the cold tiles, I gratefully retrieved my shoes.

I walked to the kitchen, sighing as I did so. I grabbed a blue mug, filled it with water and set it on the hotplate that served as the method of brewing my tea. The aroma tickled the air. I was so unbelievably tense, and that aroma calmed my nerves beyond reason. I set my face into my hands to ponder several details.

"Miss Mhera?" I blinked as Odion came into the kitchen. I put a smile on my face for his benefit, even though I was extremely worried; obviously he read beyond my outer expression. "You seem worried." He came and sat across from me, looking at me with hazel eyes that could see through any ruse I'd put up.

I sighed. "Worry is truly an understatement, my friend." My voice grew louder as I rattled off reasons using my fingers to keep track of how many I listed. "My father's ill, I have several essays to write, and to top that, my mind finds pleasure in vexing itself beyond measure." I was shaking as I spoke. "I think 'stress' would be the correct descriptive word for what I'm experiencing."

He nodded understandingly. "You said that your mind is vexing itself." He looked into my eyes, gently urging me to answer his next inquiry. "What exactly is the cause for your vexation, Mhera?"

I hesitated, as he had just opened the door for my questions to be answered if I would just ask. "You'll think it silly." I stated attempting to sway away from the situation.

He laughed softly, which brought a slight smile to my face. He quit laughing and responded. "It cannot be any more ridiculous than watching you try to avoid answering me. That has never been your forte."

I laughed lightly which brought a small smile to his face. He had me figured out pretty well. I recovered the serious nature that this conversation needed. "I feel like I should remember something about the physician, but I have no memory of her." I rubbed my temples. "Do you have any idea why?"

"I don't know." Odion's face clearly showed that he wanted to aid me more. But it brightened slightly. "I can, however, tell you why I asked Dr. Gardner."

"Because she was the only one willing to make a house call?" I asked, laughing softly at my own joke.

"Well yes. But there was another reason." He raised an eyebrow as I almost jumped out of my seat. My body screamed, "Please tell."

"Easy Mhera. Keep your seat. It's not like you're hearing this for the first time. Surely your father has told you." The look on my face told him the opposite.

"Miss Mhera," He looked at me with an unreadable gaze. "How much _has _your father told you about your mother?"

I turned away from Odion, murmuring. "He's told me more than he should have to." I hesitated. "Why?"

"Because the only other time Dr. Gardner came was when your mother was pregnant with you."

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**DH: **The mystery ensues. I hope you liked this chapter. Please Review.


	10. Chapter Ten

**DH AN: **I have another **Healing Presence **chapter. I don't think I put any Phantom References in this, but if y'all spot any, let me know. Enjoy.

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**Chapter Ten**

Marik's vision was hazy when his eyes opened. Strangely the blurring did not abate after a few minutes, but this was not without reason. He saw a hazy brunette lean into his vision. He could see that, whoever they were, concern was part of their face. His hearing was working well, as he heard a soft, "Poor guy, you really don't look well." The brunette left his vision for a few moments, rummaging somewhere, and obviously finding what she was after. "Now, open your mouth, please."

Surprisingly, Marik opened his mouth without hesitation, and felt a thermometer in it soon after. The brunette gently plucked it from his mouth, shaking her head slowly.

"One-hundred and one, this is quite a fever." She sighed, and looked up, saying something almost completely unrelated. "I remember her. She was so sweet." The brunette turned to him. "I'll bet you miss her."

Marik only nodded. "I do." He said rather hoarsely, his voice was soft as it was; but due to the fact that he answered the brunette in a hushed whisper, it was almost inaudible.

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The good Dr. Gardner sighed after removing the thermometer from her surprisingly willing patient's mouth; usually people were very wary of having something stuck in their mouth. "One-hundred and one, this is quite a fever," She looked up from the patient and her eyes drifted to the portrait. The emerald eyes…she remembered them… from over thirteen years ago, and the words she had spoken still rang in her mind. "I remember her. She was so sweet." the brunette turned to her patient, unaware that he could hear her every word. "I'll bet you miss her." She smiled slightly.

"I do." A raspy voice responded softly. The physician turned to see the platinum blond sitting up a little in the bed, with a small smile of reminisce on his face. He went silent after that.

The doctor glanced back at the wall. "You can talk, that is a really good sign, though I think you might have a hint of laryngitis, though." The blond coughed loudly, heaving a very husky few breaths. "And it sounds like the drainage has found it's way into your lungs." The patient heaved a soft sigh laced with false relief. But it was quickly replaced with a look of shock as if his ears somehow deceived him.

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Marik shook his head minutely at the doctor's voice as if it deceived him. His voice was saddened with loneliness. "You're the one who saved her…"

"Yes. Filiron is well, I assume?" the brunette asked.

Marik was silent for several minutes. "She's gone. She's…dead. I wish I was with her."

The brunette looked at him, sighing with disgust at the image he was painting. "You still have someone, and she needs you more than you know. Can't you quit moping long enough to see that?"

After Marik did not respond the brunette returned to her medical tasks. "This antibiotic should work nicely. You'll get better quicker if you smile." She left the room, and Marik's vision finally cleared; he needed to hear, not see what was said. He let sleep take him.

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I listened as Odion told me how my mother had become ill while pregnant with me, and I silently wondered how much emotional pain my parents experienced through that ordeal, but knew that it only made the love between them stronger. I smiled at the thought.

I then caught sight of the doctor, and began to bite my lip as I awaited the diagnosis. The doctor came and pulled me aside gently. "Nothing to fear; he simply has laryngitis with a slight respiratory infection. He'll have a course of antibiotics io take care of that. But he needs some TLC, and you're the only one who can give it to him." She smiled at me warmly.

I was only speechless. "How can I thank you?"

She smiled. "Just go and comfort your father; that's how you can thank me." I only gave her a silent thank you as I walked into my father's room.

I opened the door to see him asleep with one arm hanging over the bed. I slowly went to his side, knelt and gently placed my hand in his, and let him take hold of it in his sleep.

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**DH:** That image is so sweet(my opinion). Please Review.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**DH AN: **I have an anniversary chapter of **Healing Presence. **I enjoyed writing this, as odd as it may seem. But I hope you like **Chapter Eleven.**

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Chapter Eleven

As I continued my vigil over my father, my eyes started to unwillingly shut. I needed sleep, although my stubborn mind kept telling me that my father needed me more. For that reason and that reason alone, I was able to keep my eyes open.

I had reason for resisting my own calling to sleep. My father was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning every few minutes, shaking incessantly, and muttering something unintelligible. It sounded like he was scared; that fact alone scared me. His shaking only ceased when he woke, heaving and covered in a cold sweat.

He saw me, no doubt noting that I was on my knees. He let go of my hand, and started to shake again, fear coursing through him. _"How long have you been here, Mheralo?" _His telepathic voice was but a whisper.

"Since the doctor left." I murmured softly.

"_How much did you hear since then?" _His voice was almost so soft that I couldn't hear him.

"I heard everything," I quickly elaborated as I saw my father pale slightly. "but I failed to make sense of any of it, not that I tried to."

My father eyed me warily as he sat up, heaving a sigh. _"Mheralo, you need your sleep. I won't let my daughter wear herself ragged caring for her undeserving father."_

"You are not undeserving, and your welfare is my first priority, and has been since you called me here." I argued.

"_And you, dear Mheralo, have been mine for thirteen, soon to be fourteen, years_.-"

"In four months!" I cut him off.

"_Even so, you won't be at your best sleepless, dear one." _My father smiled rather childishly as he said to me what all fathers say to their daughters at least once in their lifetime. "_My Mheralo, realize that no matter how old you get, you will always be my little girl." _

While I glowered at him, or was trying to, he squeezed my hand _"Always." _He murmured again. He rolled onto his side, murmuring _"Sleep, Dear One, go and sleep." _He rolled back into his former position and added, _"Please, for my ease, Mheralo, go and rest."_

I realized that my father wasn't being at all stubborn; he was just telling the truth. I was the stubborn one this time. I finally relented, going out the door, but not before seeing my father settle back into the pillows.

I entered my room and flopped down on the bed, and asleep quicker than I knew.

_**Dream Sequence**_

I saw nothing, but my hearing was unaffected. I could feel tension in the air; it was accompanied by fear as well. The two emotions seemed to mingle in the air in tandem.

I then heard the all too familiar sound of bare feet being dragged across stone tiles. Whoever was being dragged was putting up quite a resistance…and losing. That alone made me want to weep, but then-then I heard a- a child's voice that made my blood run cold.

"No… someone help, help me! I don't want to be a tomb-keeper!" The voice repeated again, "No… someone help, help me! I don't want to be a tomb-keeper!" The child's voice was frantic.

I fell to my knees and started to weep as I heard the child's agonized screams echo around me. I wept for that child. For their fight, their loss and the submission, I wept.

Someone roughly grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up. I saw The Leader looking at me; how pathetic I must have looked, on the floor, weeping for a child whose fate had already been decided.

"Is there any way to save the child?" I asked him softly, undisguised fear coursing through my voice.

"Arlomhe, there was no way," He started somewhat tersely. "Though I can assure you the child did live on to adulthood, but the physical and emotional scars…those will never fully heal." He finished, leaving me to wake, shaking visibly in a cold sweat.

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**DH:** Okay, I hope that wasn't too awkward. Mhera saw nothing, she just heard. Also I must recommend a story called **Deceived**; it is really good, and doesn't have many reviews. It can be found on my Favorite Stories List.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**DH AN: **I'm back with another chapter of **Healing Presence. **Please enjoy **Chapter Twelve**. And I must recommend **Deceived **by **Nuit Songeur **once more. The author has added more chapters. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

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**Chapter Twelve**

I sat on the bed, still shaking incessantly from my soberly terrifying nightmare. Pulling my knees into my arms, I attempted to assuage my fear. The attempt did nothing, not even providing the slight amount of warm relief that it usually did. Cold sweat still drenched my fingers, and hadn't ceased since my jolt back to consciousness.

I tensed slightly as I felt hands lay themselves on my shoulders, only relaxing after I realized that they were there in gentle, silent assurance, and nothing more. I knew those hands, the fact that they had begun to gently stroke my hair removed any and all doubt at who was trying to soothe my perturbed mind. I leaned eagerly into the soft caresses, which seemed to make them more frequent; not that I minded.

The caresses ceased soon after, somewhat to my displeasure. I was startled slightly as my father's voice began wrapping itself comfortingly around my mind, soft and quiet. _"I know you perhaps, my Mheralo, better than you know yourself." _My father was breathing softly into my shoulder as he let his mind provide his voice. _"I know your fear, not what you fear, but when you fear. I've known your tears since I first held you in my arms; always hoping that I was not the cause, nor one those tears were shed over." _He held my head softly against his chest, his breathing slow and soothing. _"You are mine. I know you, am able to recognize your face, hidden by hood or not."_

Any other time, a statement like that would have done the opposite of what it was doing to me now, bringing me great comfort. The "gravity" of the fact that my father was with me then smacked into my mind like a load of bricks.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" I asked softly, attempting to disguise the still-present, dream-induced fear that lingered in my voice.

"_You need me more." _He responded softly, shaking back sobs as he had in the chamber; violently. His shaking sobs were over me. Me. I saw him breaking before my eyes once more; and I was not one of those people who would kill to see my father in this state…it killed me. I bit my lip as I caught sight of my father's tear-stained face.

He held me gently in his arms, trying to maintain his almost unbreakable façade, but I heard choking sobs behind the strenuously un-parted lips. He then said something I wasn't quite prepared for.

"_I'm so sorry, my Mheralo."_ He grasped my hands, encasing them in his own.

I found myself shocked. I wanted to say something more, but all that came out was a soft, almost choked, "For what?"

"_For everything that has made you conceal your face by hood." _He murmured softly.

I knew that I was either hearing things, or had to lock this in my mind, as it was a rare occurrence for my father to apologize for any reason. He would never apologize for this under normal circumstances; it was bound to happen anyway. Getting myself caught just happened to be the event needed to do it. Thankfully, I wasn't caught alone.

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After my father had shown me something that I would rather forget, I caught Sheon and Noinreil in the middle of plotting something, surely of Noinreil's conception, that, simply put, would set our lives for the roles now played. I played no part in the plot, but followed behind to ensure they didn't do anything stupid. Naturally being a bit of a klutz, I fell, and was caught doing what I wanted to avoid. Noinreil was caught because his voice was carrying too far, and what he was saying had nothing to do with the predicament we found ourselves in.

I was brought in first, pale as a cellar-dweller who saw very little light would be imagined. I remember almost too clearly the painfully satisfied look on my father's face. He then glowered at Noinreil, after which I quickly averted my eyes. Though, it was somewhat satisfying to see Noinreil in trouble.

"I know there is a third of your entourage." My father murmured, voice icily soft. As if by cue, Sheon stepped out from where he had been safely hidden, too valiant to escape the fate that could have been spared from him. I watched as he let himself be roughly placed between Noinreil and myself…as he was almost always soon after...

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Quickly brought out of my reverie, I noticed my father had moved to the doorway. _"You must know that I was hoping that would happen differently, if not at all. The pain I've caused you…I'm no better than-" _He cut himself off there, as if he had almost said too much. My curiosity was starting to make my mind wander a dangerous path…some secrets are better kept from those one loves… whatever my father had almost revealed was perhaps, one such secret.

I stepped towards him, my voice a whisper, preparing for how my words would affect me.

"What's done is done. There is nothing that can be done to change it." I sighed as I gently led him back to his room, emotionally pained at how badly he and I both somewhat wished that my words were false.

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**DH:** So sad, sorry. And I really apologize for the Spoilers for the next chapter of **Powers Revealed**…but I like spoilers. Please Review.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**DH AN:** I'm back with another chapter of** Healing Presence. **Please enjoy** Chapter Thirteen.**

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**Chapter Thirteen**

I calmly entered my father's room after him, his apology still having a ringing effect within my mind. Why would he apologize for something so trivial, something that I had learned to accept years ago. And yet, I was still a bit shocked. Of course, my father could have always meant something else. I had never learned to "Let my mind think as it pleased." while just leaving it alone; nor have I mastered the art of knowing when to refrain from speaking, but that is another matter entirely.

I watched as he sat on the bed. His melancholy demeanor remained almost plastered on his face, and under that his fear still showed itself in the lines that revealed themselves. I finally saw something that I had never seen before this ordeal.

If his façade of intimidating strength was never revealed to be that before this, I knew I was clearly not able to discern this. It troubled me…that it was only a mask that he wore. And I was certain that when his façade was loosened, this demeanor had never revealed itself. He had always kept a hold on his demeanor. But now…he was revealing more than he had in recent days…all without saying a word.

"_Why are you here?" _My father's voice prodded upon my musing. He looked at me once more with those pleading eyes that could threaten as easily as they could adore. _"Why do you return, when I don't even deserve the care you give?"_ He balled his fists. _"Why do you not just let me suffer?"_ His last question cut through my mind, as if it were forced through clenched teeth.

I came and sat on the opposite side of the bed, removing my shoes and letting them drop to the floor softly. I walked across the bed and knelt behind him. My voice was a whisper as I spoke, tears making routes down my face. "I could ask you the same thing; why do you let your strong facade slide aside around me? Why did you call for me?" I hesitated. "Why is it that we seem to let our true natures reveal their hidden intricacies with those we care about? What is it that makes human hearts care so much for those who think they deserve so little?" Tears were once more making their way down my face.

"_I wish I could answer that for you, dear one."_ He sighed softly, as he swiftly grabbed my hand. _"You realize that those are questions the common man has asked for ages and still they have no answer?"_ He sighed. _"Perhaps man needn't answer those questions with words, perhaps theses questions are meant to be answered by humanity in action rather than words over and over again." _He sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair.

"Are you sure you don't have a degree in psychology hidden somewhere?" I asked, hiding a laugh.

He ruffled my hair softly, mildly chortling as best he could. _"I don't, Mheralo. But I have studied on the subject."_ He smiled._ "It amazes me how amusingly thought provoking you are." _His face then grew somber when my chin unintentionally rested on his shoulder. _"You are still tired." _He huffed softly, crossing his arms as he did so. _"I won't stand to see you running yourself ragged for my benefit." _He turned to face me. _" Did I not tell you this earlier; you need to rest, and not let your concern for my welfare blind you to your own needs."_

"I cannot bring myself to truly rest until you are well…you know the feeling, don't you?" I looked past my father, my gaze dropping to an edge that was formed by the wall and floor. The wall and the floor were connected by that small edge. Why I was thinking about this first stumped me…was it a metaphor trying to show itself?

"_Something troubles you." _My father sighed softly as he shifted himself to where he was behind me. _"I know when something troubles you. You give yourself away far too easily." _

"That, and you know my expressions." I murmured with a small smile as I figured out what the metaphor revealed. We were linked, and that was the way we both wanted it to stay…I knew this just as my father knew when I was troubled. "I forgot to drink my tea while it was warm!!" I blurted as the realization struck me out of nowhere. Attempting to hide a grimace at the thought of drinking tea that had grown cold, I sighed with disgust.

"_I told you that you would neglect yourself, Mheralo." _My father bit back a smirk. "_Surely you can take five minutes for yourself to at least see to your hot tea…or are you going to drink it cold?" _I was certain he already knew the answer. I stepped silently out, and quickly bolted back to the doorway.

"Don't even _think _about leaving this room." I paused, mocking a glare in his direction. "Understand?"

"_I never meant to scare you. It's just that…" _His expression was both sympathetic and his voice still held its melancholy undertone.

I smiled. "I know how much she meant to you-how much she still means to you." I quickly covered my error before it could present itself as such.

He smiled. _"Yes, her memory means a lot to me.. Now are_ _you just going to stand there and keep watch or are you going to get your tea?" _

I nodded and left for the kitchen with a smile.

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**DH: **Hope that was alright. Please review.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**DH AN: ** I have an update of **Healing** **Presence** before I start my finals. Please enjoy **Chapter Fourteen.**

**POV: **Mhera 1st

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**Chapter Fourteen**

As I entered the kitchen, I found my thoughts once again irreversibly tangled beyond comprehension. To make matters worse, I had no idea why my mind chose to torment me in this manner; trying to pursue why seemed fruitless.

I somewhat ruefully emptied my mug into the sink, catching the teabag as it attempted to leave with the liquid. There was no doubt in my mind that it would have been trouble later, as the drain for the sink was rather large and lacked a garbage disposal. Keeping the teabag suspended between two of my fingers, I sidestepped towards the trashcan, somewhat carelessly tossing the teabag into the receptacle; only affording a second glance to ensure that it did go in, rather than stick to the outside of the can.

With a calm sigh, I plucked a fresh teabag from the cabinet above and to the right of the sink, setting the acquired item next to the hotplate. I then rinsed the mug out and refilled it with water, after which I placed it on the hotplate. Taking a seat, I sank into the hard back of the chair, rotating my shoulders back until I felt somewhat relaxed. This stress was doing nothing positive for me.

When the water was warm enough, I removed the mug from the hotplate; adding the teabag and the desired amount of sweetener. As the aroma of steeping tea filled the air, I sighed, relief merely masking the stress rather than easing it away; it was a wonderful feeling regardless.

I suddenly shivered, any relief I possessed snatched away by the frantic voice from my prior nightmare that sounded suddenly, echoing through my mind like a bell soon after. The mere acknowledgement of it simply terrified me. My shoulders involuntarily shook as I braced myself on the table. Weren't nightmares supposed to leave one as soon as they woke? It was strange that I was filled with heart-wrenching pity while within the experience, yet, now awake, was now shying away from it as if it were a loaded weapon. Feeling pallor flood my face as I inhaled swiftly, another realization jabbed at the front of my mind. The sounds of bare feet dragging against a gritty floor, the tension that hung in the air- all the other details slammed into me with enough momentum to create a hole in a solid concrete block. It sent me recoiling back into my chair to the point where it was precariously leaning on the back legs.

When the front legs snapped back to contact with the stone tiles, my whole body was vibrating with a fear that had nothing to do with my chair. That child, whoever they were, had been betrayed in the most frightening of ways. They were screaming to be heard, literally. I suppose what frightened me most was that even if I knew what was happening in its entirety…I wouldn't have been able to do anything to prevent it or otherwise. Of the few things I possessed certainty on, the one idea that I comprehended from the start was the fact that, if the events of my nightmare truly occurred in reality; the event therein had already passed.

Another circumstance allowed my mind to wrap firmly around the idea that I witnessed an event experienced months, years, decades, possibly centuries prior; the presence of The Leader and his revelation not only served as an indication of my nightmare's possible reality to my lucidity aided pondering; but nerved me further as well. Aside from my failure to remember his more familiar identity of The R.H. until now, the recent appearances of said individual were far too warranted, yet I never expected them when they came. He was never one to make his purpose to comfort me when in full persona, as he had been in all his recent appearances throughout the course of this ordeal. I remained unsure of whether my own mind was solely responsible for the far too realistic representation or if there was another force that played a part in this as well; either one was likely.

I pulled my hair out of the braid it had been in for hours by removing the small band at the bottom. The mere act of releasing that tension seemed to release the additional tension that had nothing to do with the twists that held my hair in the desired style.

I heaved a sigh laced with a worry that was far too easily perceptible. I felt the worry permeating every fiber of my being; those circumstances were far and in between. I pressed my fingers hard against the table, merely enough to present pressure, not to cause pain. I was worried, though not about my father's health; I had no doubt that he would recover with no indication that he ever suffered from an illness.

What worried me most was that every one of my father's behaviors that I had grown accustomed to in the past six years could be considered nothing more than an elaborate façade. Every trait he exhibited in the past two to three days seemed to counter those which he took comfort in under normal circumstances, save for the well-deserved lecture I received on my poor excuses for "polished" essays.

Most would consider him vulnerable in this state of illness. I did not see it that way; it was bothersome to think of my father as ever being vulnerable…it was bothersome to see him in this state, not because I ever thought him invincible; rather it was because he never allowed vulnerability or weakness to be visible, especially to me.

This thought process reminded me that every action my father took had a reason. Prodded by the memory of when he showed me my mother's coat of arms under the known guise of The R.H., he simultaneously taught me that I would never fully understand his methods, and that every action he took had a purpose, seeable or not. His revelation and subsequent concealment of the tapestry was not an act of denial of any devotion he possessed for my mother, but a gesture expressing acceptance of a course of events that only he could take responsibility for. When I later pondered my incorrect assumption of his denial weeks later, I realized my failure to recall the gentleness of his touches on the fabric. He had treated it with an unmatchable respect, as if the tapestry were so fragile it would tear at the slightest touch. If the act was one of denial, I doubt the tapestry would even be hanging on a wall.

When my father revealed anything to me, it was never done with the mannerisms of an individual who was backed into a proverbial corner; rather it was with quiet reverence and awareness that he did so. If it was ever accidental, he held a calm composure, able to dissuade any perception of weakness that was entertained. In addition, when encountered with the opportunity and gifted with the patience, the cadence of his words rarely possessed their usual sharply tense edge, rather it was with a gently slow pace laced with warm undertones that lacked any guile supporting his revelations to complement an unmatched possession of demeanor that only he could claim as his own. I inwardly squirmed as I remembered the one recallable event proving my generalization was not the rule.

I set my chin into my hands as I pondered another subject. I was almost certain my father's aversion to vulnerability lay in his past. But I have enough sense not to pry. My father would reveal what he wished, when he wished. I was not to initiate a relation. For the most part, I have been able to keep that in mind and abide by it; save for when I begged my father to relate how he met and eventually married my mother. He obliged, but I could see how torn he was; at some points his face showed something he would not allow himself to speak; wishing that I never asked him to relate the matter. His face betrayed his words, showing sorrow, anguish, and grief that neither years nor decades nor could a century begin to heal.

When I once again requested he tell me after almost six years merely a day prior to the present, my father once again obliged; the sorrow and grief were not present in his face as that was already altered due to his illness. Rather, the somber melancholy revealed itself in his voice, the tones of lament masked by ones of forced elation.

I shook myself from those thoughts with an involuntary glance at the table. Not wishing to repeat my earlier mistake of allowing the tea to cool to an undesirable temperature, I eagerly drained my mug as I caught my hastily forgotten essay on the hallway floor. Though it was for a decent reason at the time, any further attempts to prolong my avoidance of the task at hand would not be in my best interest. I had promised that I would work on the necessary revisions and was unwilling to let any more time get away from me.

I retrieved my paper, pen and moleskin notebook from the floor where the haste in my flight was evident, the two sheets of paper flung across from where I sat. Placing the tray back into the kitchen cabinet, I then paced toward my room but went one room further. Entering the room, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I caught sight of the modest fireplace centered on the far wall. Leaving the door slightly ajar to allow a small sliver of light entrance, I stepped toward the fireplace to grab the tinderbox and a match from the small compartment at the right hidden by a Wall-Switch. I set the two items on the mantle in favor of setting down my other materials on the side table; it would not be in my best interest if I were to drop them into the fireplace.

I struck the match, setting the tinder alight. After selecting a few logs from the pyramid shaped pile to the right of the fireplace to sustain the flames; I took a seat only to feel my shoulders scream with pain as the suppressed stress on them from carrying my father on them finally revealed itself. I was certain that the adrenaline that coursed through me as I carried him had been the only reason I was able to avoid the pain until now. The dull aching feeling made my muscles throb minutely. It was difficult to steel my mind away from the exhaustive feeling to work on the essay that was breathing down my neck. The heat from the fireplace was lulling me into an insurmountable state of semi-consciousness. My thoughts were now less muddled. My eyelids grew heavy upon hearing the siren song of sleep, accepting its enticing invitation to forget my turbulent thoughts for a moment in favor of the sensation of the stress easing away that I so desperately sought.

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DH: **I hope you enjoyed this. I enjoy writing this, shame on me for being so forgetful. I have no idea what the next update will be. I hope to update a few times during my break. Please review.


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